


Cake and Pie

by DastardlySonya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DastardlySonya/pseuds/DastardlySonya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo Harvelle just wants a break.  She's had enough of the boys arguing for the day, and heads up to the roof for some peace and quiet.  Dean follows her, and Jo makes some surprising discoveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake and Pie

Cake and Pie

Jo Harvelle liked visiting Bobby Singer. The house was musty, and messy, sure, but it gave her a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in a long time. And the books- those were incredible. That one house held more lore in once place than Jo had ever seen in her life. The roof, though, that was the best part. It wasn’t all that uncomfortable to perch up there, and if you didn’t mind smashed up cars, the view wasn’t half bad.  
But even better than that was the solitude. The generally reassuring atmosphere of the house wasn’t without its catches. Bobby fussed- don’t touch this, don’t touch that, Dean, quit drinking my whiskey. The bickering got to her after a while, and this was the one place it couldn’t follow her.  
Or so she thought.  
“Hey,” Dean Winchester said, plopping down beside her, legs dangling over the edge of the gabled roof.  
Jo glanced at him from the corner of her eye, not deigning to acknowledge him with a full turn of her head. “How did you get up here?” she asked. She couldn’t remember, but she was fairly sure she had dragged the ladder up after her once she climbed up.  
“How did you get up here?” Dean countered, smirking at her. So she hadn’t brought the ladder up. He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket and peered at her, waiting for a response.  
“Can’t blame me for wanting to get away for a while,” Jo pointed out as Dean continued to fumble with his pockets. “You boys argue like little girls.”  
Dean snorted and withdrew two bottles from his inside pockets, finally having liberated them. “I don’t know about that,” he declared, failing to sound unembarrassed. He held one of the beers out to her. “Make it up to you?”  
Giving him no acknowledgement as to whether his kindness would swing her favor one way or the other, Jo reached for the bottle.  
“Wait,” Dean said suddenly, withdrawing the beer. He twisted off the cap, and handed it back over.  
Jo took a swig, and sighed, and turned to Dean. “Why’d you come up here?” she asked him, figuring that as long as he was up here they might as well have a conversation.  
Dean shrugged, and swallowed. “Seemed like you needed company,” he answered.  
“I didn’t,” Jo said, just a little more harshly than she intended.  
Dean took it in stride, looking amused instead of insulted. “Yeah, you did.”  
Jo didn’t press the point, turning instead back towards the junkyard and taking another swig of her drink. Cars, she mused. She could learn to fix those. Make a living out of it. She’d certainly stay alive a lot longer than if she kept hunting.  
“Hey,” Dean interrupted again. He drained his bottle and straightened up. “I bet you I can nail that light post from here.” He indicated one halfway across the scrap yard.  
Jo made a face and followed suit, finishing her beer. “Like hell you can.” But she didn’t tell him not to try.  
Dean adjusted the empty bottle in his grip, wicked grin on his face. He hauled back, and threw it as hard as he could. The bottle arced towards its target, and for a moment Jo thought it would make it. But then the bottle began its inevitable descent, and broke into a million pieces against the ground, about twenty feet short.  
Dean swore, and Jo laughed. He glared at her. “Like you could do any better,” he said bitterly.  
“Of course I can,” Jo declared, recovering her composure. She readied her aim, and threw. Her bottle fell even shorter than Dean’s.  
“Ha,” he said deliberately, finger pointed at her, grinning in satisfaction. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”  
Jo swatted his finger away. “Grow up,” she grumbled.  
Before Dean could reply, the screen door downstairs banged open and Bobby Singer stomped across the porch. In the same smooth motion, Jo and Dean yanked their feet up over the edge of the roof and scooted away into the shadow of the nearest gable.  
“What the hell d’you idjits think you’re doing?” he shouted. “Quit throwin' glass into my yard!”  
There was silence, so Bobby crossed his arms. “No sense in hidin’,” he admonished. “I know you’re up there.”  
Dean winced. “Sorry Bobby,” he called down. Bobby didn’t move.  
“Sorry Bobby,” Jo echoed a moment later.  
Placated, Bobby gave a nod of approval and stalked back inside.  
Dean let out a breath and stretched his legs out once again. Beside him, Jo did the same, crossing her legs and brushing stray hair out of her eyes.  
“At least it’s never boring around here,” she sighed.  
“Yeah, demon possessions and Lucifer rising keep life exciting,” Dean said cynically.  
Jo felt a smile tug at the edge of her lips. “You don’t say.”  
Dean laughed, shaking his head. He pushed a hand through his hair as he spoke: “Can’t say I’ve met anyone as hard to please as you,” he commented. “Maybe Sammy. But he don’t really count, do he? Known him forever.”  
“Doesn’t,” Jo said, not missing a beat. “He doesn’t count.”  
Dean frowned. “What?”  
“You meant to say, ‘Sam doesn’t count,” Jo clarified. “You said he don’t.”  
Dean pursed his lips and frowned, leaning back slightly to take her in more fully. “You’re just full of surprises, ain’t cha?”  
Jo didn’t laugh at his attempt at humor. “Aren’t,” she correctly flatly.  
Dean’s frown returned slightly. “I’m going to try something,” he said slowly. “But you’ve got to promise not to hit me.”  
Jo returned the frown. “I never promise that,” she said.  
Dean didn’t answer, Jo’s lack of a promise not dissuading him from leaning forward and, after a split second’s hesitation where neither of them dared to breath, kissing her.  
It took a moment for Jo to even register what was going on, and when she did, another moment to try and think things through. They were hunters. Loss was a part of life for them, simply a hazard of the job. Dean didn’t need someone else he felt like he had to look out for. He had been through enough.  
These thoughts and more sped through Jo’s mind within the seconds of the first touch of Dean’s lips. Just as he began to think that Jo might let him kiss her a little better she pulled back, giving him a shove.  
“What the hell?” she demanded.  
Dean had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he began. “I just… wanted to see.”  
Jo didn’t let him continued. Reason be damned. This was Dean Winchester, and she was never going to get a better chance to kiss him. No one around to see, no one to judge, no obligations. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in and kissing him hard.  
No harm done, Jo reasoned. A kiss was a kiss, and that’s all this would be. Unattached. Dean, she knew, was the kind at unattached. It was perfect. An open mouthed kiss, two lonely people who had found each other, if only for a moment.  
Dean’s movement’s slowed as he attempted to track his thoughts and reciprocate at the same time. He must have done a worse job than he thought, because Jo pulled back, looking at him quizzically.  
“What is it?” she asked.  
“It’s not personal,” Dean said quickly. “It’s just… I think there’s someone. Not that I don’t care about you, but…” he shook his head. “I didn’t think it was real.”  
Jo raised an eyebrow. Unattached, she reminded herself. “So why did you kiss me?” she asked.  
Dean leaned against the steeple of the roof. “God, Jo, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”  
She shrugged. “It’s okay,” she told him, and already the brief moment of hurt was fading. She leaned back beside him. “Tell me, who is this ‘someone’?”  
Blood flushed Dean’s cheeks and he avoided her gaze. “It’s, well. Hard to explain.”  
“Try me,” Jo challenged.  
Dean took a deep breath, considering. Then he took the plunge. “You know how I really like pie?” he asked.  
Jo frowned. “Yeah…” she said slowly, not following the train of thought.  
Dean forged on. “Well, I’ve started wondering if cake is any good. Like, really wondering.”  
“I have no clue what you’re trying to say.”  
Dean went on, barely hearing her. “So I see this… cake almost every day and just walk on by, because I know that I like pie. So why bother with cake? But then I start thinking about cake when there’s pie right there, and the pie almost isn’t as good anymore. Meanwhile, the cake is basically starting to just, take over my thoughts and seem just the same as pie. But it isn’t.”  
Jo pursed her lips, fighting the start of a smile. “By cake,” she guessed, “do you mean”-  
Dean quickly spoke over her. “Then there’s the fact that everyone else knows I like pie. I love pie. I always will- pie is amazing. So if I suddenly start going around saying no, I like cake, they’re all going to think I’m nuts. And it’s not even true- I like pie just fine! There is absolutely nothing wrong with pie. So why does the cake look so damn good? I must… I like cake too.” He nodded decisively. “I like Ca-cake.”  
“Ok,” Jo said once Dean had said his piece. “Here’s the thing. Lots of different people like lots of different… desserts. So really, you should be telling this all to the cake.”  
“But,” Dean said, “what about the pie?”  
“What about the cookies?” Jo countered. “And the lemon bars, and the ice cream? They’re always going to be around. The pie isn’t going to suddenly vanish.”  
Dean rubbed his forehead. “This is stressful,” he moaned.  
“There is a thing,” Jo said carefully, “called uh… pie-sexual- screw it.” She slapped a hand on his knee. “Bisexual. Look it up. And while you work on figuring that one out, I’m going to go back downstairs. It’s getting dark.  
Jo stood and stretched before walking off, vanishing between the roof’s steeples. Dean continued to sit, nervous and confused, but just a little less so than before.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr! http://queen-mcgregor.tumblr.com/


End file.
